


strength

by Queen_of_Moons67



Series: Tumblr Prompt / Ask Box Fill [42]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Drowning, Gen, Hurt Aramis | René d'Herblay, POV Porthos du Vallon, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 15:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30057645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_Moons67/pseuds/Queen_of_Moons67
Summary: Prompt: Could I possibly request a “Breathe, Just Breathe” prompt for Aramis & Porthos, please?
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & Porthos du Vallon
Series: Tumblr Prompt / Ask Box Fill [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643869
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	strength

The day was supposed to be a good one. Aramis and Porthos had the same day off, so they had ridden out to the countryside, just the two of them, to walk alongside the uncrowded, un-polluted bank of the Seine.

And then, like the boys they denied they were to Treville, the walk turned into a water fight, Aramis slipped and fell, and Porthos could only take in the sight of his brother, blood turning the water murky and the last of his air bubbling to the surface—and then Porthos grabbed for him, splashing through the water as fast as he could and dragging Aramis to the bank.

“Aramis?” he asked, kneeling so he could brace the man upright. “Aramis, talk to me!”

Porthos shook him, harder than he probably should have, hard enough that Aramis’s head swayed and bloody water splattered their clothes, but his brother stayed silent.

Too silent.

His own breathing coming fast and heavy, Porthos ducked his head and listened to Aramis’s lungs.

Nothing. And with wide eyes, Porthos looked to the river.

What were the odds that Aramis had breathed that water in? Too good. Terribly, terribly good.

Turning back to his brother, Porthos shucked his own jacket, laid it on the ground to protect the head wound, and then laid Aramis on top of it. He hadn’t seen a lot of drowning victims himself, not growing up in the dirt and cobble streets of the Court, but he had heard of them from Aramis. If they had switched places, Aramis would know exactly what to do, and Porthos would bet his own life that he himself would already be standing upright.

But it was Aramis on the ground, and all Porthos could do was draw on memory.

Tilt the head back, open the mouth, and breathe for them. Force the air past any water. Force the air into the lungs. Force. Force.

If there was one thing Porthos was renowned for, it was his strength. Strength of heart, strength of body, and he would give them both all he had.

Porthos sucked in air, filling his lungs to the max, and then bent over Aramis. Tilted his head back, opened his mouth, covered it with his own—and breathed. Compressed his own stomach till he had no choice but to lean back, gasping, all the air he’d had in his brother.

“Breathe, Aramis,” he begged. “Please, breathe.”

And then he bent down and repeated the process once—twice—and on the third breath in, Aramis hacked a cough, and Porthos hurriedly pulled him up so he could spew the water all over the ground.

“Breathe, Aramis,” Porthos croaked, rubbing his palm over his brother’s back. “Just breathe. That’s it.”

And when Aramis settled back in his arms, body shaky but chest moving steadily, Porthos felt his own breathing return to normal.


End file.
